Stocking Feet
by freddlerabbit
Summary: A one-shot for Crimeland - mostly a scene from investigating a case, with a cute friendly moment at the end, and a few nice team moments throughout. I do not think it is gross or graphic, but I do mention the victims and knife wounds.


**A/N: This is a oneshot for Crimeland at LiveJournal Case 10, fic challenge. It's 1651 words, and contains a discussion of evidence found on victims in the cases, but nothing too gross – the worst is mention of "wounds", and I don't think it should be graphically offensive. If you read to the end, I think you'll appreciate the last moment! **

"Reid." Morgan continued to look over at the young agent seated next to him, who was currently hunched forward and frowning in great concentration at his sneaker. There was no response. He gave an inward sigh, nudged Reid slightly with his shoulder, and tried again. "Reid." Reid's shoulders startled slightly, and he turned his head to look at Morgan, eyes widening.

"Sorry, what?"

Morgan grinned. He nudged Reid's shoulder again. "I think you better redirect your train of thought," he said in a lower tone, nodding across the subway car at a young woman with a guitar case sitting at the other end, frowning slightly in their direction. "You were staring at that lady."

"What? No, I wasn't staring at her," Reid protested, eyes widening further.

"I know that," Morgan explained patiently. "But she doesn't."

Reid swallowed visibly, eyes darting towards the end of the car and then back to his shoe. He cleared his throat, apparently deciding whether or not to elaborate.

"I was considering the ways that pieces of fabric like the ones found on the victims could become embedded so deeply in the wounds," he began, speaking more quickly as he warmed to his theme. "We know the threads don't come from clothing the victim was wearing, and the bodies are scrupulously free of other trace evidence of that sort. The UnSub doesn't leave any piece of fabric behind on the bodies or near the scenes, so it's unlikely he is wrapping his weapon with a cloth out of some sense of cleanliness or protection – if it were that, he'd simply dispose of the cloths following the kills; they'd be garbage to him."

Prentiss now leaned forward from across the aisle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I still think we can't form a solid hypothesis about what he does do with the cloths," she said. Her brow furrowed, mirroring Reid's expression. "We know nothing has been found at the crime scenes that would match the fabric found inside the bodies. Now, there have been different search practices in each jurisdiction – in Georgia, it sounded like they conducted a fairly thorough search of the grounds; Virginia and Rhode Island sounded a lot more lax. Boston PD, I trust to be complete. But we don't have consistent data here."

Reid's eyebrows quirked. "Right, but, the odds of all four locations finding no trace of an item used in the killings and then disposed of without care are extremely low. I think we can safely assume the cloth itself has some significance to the UnSub."

Morgan grinned, still not ready to focus completely during the short subway ride to the precinct. He knew there would be plenty of difficult work ahead. "So what does this have to do with your shoe," he asked.

Reid shot him a glance without turning his head. He angled his sneaker towards Morgan, providing a view of worn treads, blades of grass, dirt and other detritus to his colleagues.

"The debris that becomes wedged into shoe treads, or soft ground – or any surface – can often reveal the direction and amount of the force that wedge them there. When I was looking at my shoe, I could see different types of debris and potentially identify different times, locations, directions, intensity of pressure, and even speed. " Reid did not pause to see whether his teammates were following his logic – he almost never did – but if he had, he would have been pleasantly surprised to see them all nodding along, except for JJ, who was flipping through notes on her tablet as he spoke.

"Interestingly, although the fibers from each victim matched, the photos reveal some differences in angle of the weapon – which you'd expect, as the UnSub wouldn't be in the same place with respect to each of his victims – that's impossible – but also with respect to how the fabric stuck to the wounds."

Had Reid looked up at this point, he would have seen evidence of growing confusion.

"In two of the cases, the fibers found on the victims were tangled, almost cross-hatched, suggesting that either they were tightly woven in the original fabric, or that the weapon was twisted around. However, on the body in Rhode Island, the fabric threads were almost parallel – not crossed or tangled at all."

There was a silence, interrupted only by a station announcement. "Wollaston", the automated voice said. The team began gathering their belongings, ready to depart at the next stop. Reid continued as the doors slid closed.

"It's actually hard for me to figure out how that could have happened. Either, the fabric was woven differently, but of the same material – in a way that would have enabled the fibers to enter the wounds in parallel no matter what. I am currently unaware of any weaving process that would produce this effect. Or," and he finally looked up at his colleagues, "or the UnSub progressed from wrapping the cloth around his knife to placing the fibers on the victims post-mortem."

The team shared significant glances, each considering the implications of this conclusion. They all startled a bit as the train stopped, and rose uniformly to leave.

Prentiss was the first to break the concentration. "So, what do we think that means?" she asked. "What kind of ritual significance could this have?"

Morgan looked off in the distance as he ventured an answer. "Perhaps it's some kind of idea of cleaning – the bodies are carefully arranged, in good condition. Can he be using these, these threads to somehow bandage or clean the wounds he's made? A gesture of remorse?"

Hotchner countered, "or perhaps it's a marking. The fibers are a kind of symbol." He squared his shoulders and directed the agents. "Let's see what we've got out there this time."

The BAU team followed Hotchner down an asphalt path from the T station and were introduced to the "Superior Officer" in charge of the local police station. S.O. Torney shook hands, and led them into a conference room, where a corkboard with a map and crime scene photos of the Boston victim waited.

"Thank you for all of the materials," Hotchner began. Torney interrupted him – "I received a call from Agent Garcia, letting me know what you all needed. Let us know what else you need – we have a car available to escort you to the crime scene when you're ready." The SSA nodded at Torney, who spun on his heel and left.

Reid was already at the board, face up close to the photos, studying for further evidence of his new theory.

"The fibers here are also lined up, and not tangled," he announced to everyone behind him, without turning to look around. He ran a hand through his hair, and frowned at the board for another moment, before turning almost as abruptly as Torney had, and asking, "Where did S.O. Torney go?"

Several sets of BAU eyes looked quizzically at him, as JJ pointed in the direction of the door. Reid nodded, and trotted out of the room, making a beeline for Torney's desk. His colleagues watched through the window as their youngest member appeared to fire a series of questions at the officer, and become increasingly excited at the response. Reid gestured with his hands. No one in the conference room could quite figure out what his gestures meant, exactly. As the conversation closed, he bounded back into the room, sat in a chair, and, incredibly, pushed up a pant leg and began unlacing his shoe.

"Reid," said Morgan, with an undertone of thinly-worn patience, "do you want to explain what you're doing?"

Reid looked up, but not exactly at Morgan – almost over his shoulder, thoughts racing along faster than his glance could move. "I'm testing a theory. Your theory, actually. I think the UnSub placed these fibers individually, as a sort of wound-binding – the pattern actually matches the so-called "framing" bindings of medieval wound treatments, where a parallel set of strips would be laid down and then supportive bindings woven between them."

Morgan squinted. "Uh-huh."

"I think," Reid continued, "that our UnSub must have some knowledge of these ancient practices – but I'd like to assess the difficulty of creating this pattern myself, first, before I can be more sure."

A young officer came in, bearing some kind of bottle, tweezers, and gauze. "Uh, which one is Dr. Reid?" she asked.

JJ took the items from her with a smile, and looked back at Reid. Her smile deepened.

"Next time you use your shoes to test a theory, Spence," she said, "I hope you have interesting socks."

Reid paused and looked down at his right leg, from which he'd taken his shoe, ankle balanced on his left knee. The foot and ankle were encased in a bright orange sock, with some kind of octopus or squid design in blue on the side. What was visible of his other ankle showed a dark navy sock, with no pattern. Reid blushed and went back to work, and the rest of the team dispersed to their separate tasks.

K-K-K-K-K-K

Arriving back at the BAU after the case was wrapped up, Reid set his messenger bag down and stretched, making cracking sounds in his back. He frowned slightly at a small, tan package with no postal marks that had been left on his seat. He picked it up – it was soft, and uniform – and bore no indication of who'd sent it.

Opening the package, a small piece of paper fell to the floor. It read, "Nice to have you keeping us on the right track. – P." Inside were two bright green socks with white edging around the openings. Looking closer, he saw the socks had been designed to resemble alligators, with the gaping mouths as the opening of the sock. He grinned and looked up. Prentiss, on the phone across the room, gave him a brief wink.


End file.
